


Memories Stirred

by pikablob



Category: Sen to Chihiro no Kamikakushi | Spirited Away
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Chihiro chose to stay in the Spirit World, Gen, Light Angst, Repressed Memories, So her parents don’t remember her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24223369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikablob/pseuds/pikablob
Summary: While visiting the local fair, Yūko and Akio run into a strange girl who seems oddly familiar...
Relationships: Ogino Akio/Ogino Yuuko, Ogino Chihiro & Ogino Akio, Ogino Chihiro & Ogino Yuuko
Comments: 10
Kudos: 88





	Memories Stirred

**Author's Note:**

> Recommended Song: [The Leshan Buddha (Chihiro's Violin Piece)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=02cHllqKMyA)

Nights like these were Yūko’s favourites. It was late summer, the air still pleasantly warm, and a fair was on. A jumble of wooden stalls spilled down the hillside, lit by the flickering glow of paper lanterns. Laughter and distant music echoed from afar, whilst delicious aromas wafted from sizzling pans. It was a marked change from the hectic pace of day-to-day life, to be roaming around slowly instead of rushing too or from work.

Akio was grinning, glancing from food stall to food stall with joyous hunger. They really were spoilt for choice up here. They were both far too used to grabbing food in transit, so this was a welcome change.

“You just don’t get this in the city,” he observed.

“No,” Yūko agreed, “You don’t. I’m glad we moved out here.” She took his hand in hers, relishing the moment.

They kept walking, past more food and crafts stalls. All around them other people milled; groups of local children played, other couples strolled along, and old hands gathered at their favourite stands. Everyone was enjoying the festivities, it seemed, except one person.

Yūko couldn’t explain how she’d noticed, but ahead, where the path opened out to a seating area in front of the fair’s community stage, was a young girl. Her hair was brown and messy, pulled hastily into a loose ponytail, and she was wearing a green striped shirt. She looked uneasy, shifting from foot to foot and wringing her hands as she looked all around, searching the crowds for someone. She looked just a little too young to be alone; maybe she had gotten separated from her family?

Yūko approached, gently pulling her husband away from the teriyaki he’d been eyeing up. She cleared her throat. “Hello there.”

The girl spun to face them, eyes going wide for a moment. She stepped back involuntarily, before composing herself enough to give a quick customary bow.

“H-hi,” she stammered out, swallowing conspicuously.

“Are you lost?” Yūko asked gently.

“No,” the girl said quickly, too quickly, “Just nervous.”

“Nervous?”

“I’m about to play,” she hastily explained, “On the community stage.” Yūko could tell there was more she wanted to say and that she was holding back, but chose not to pry. 

“Are your parents coming to watch?” the woman asked. The girl seemed to shiver involuntarily.

“Maybe?” she said awkwardly. “I don’t really know. But I would be honoured if you came!” Her voice cracked.

“Of course we’ll come and watch!” Akio announced with gusto, brimming with enthusiasm. The girl seemed to relax a bit, unclenching her jaw and giving a small smile. But there was a strange look in her eyes, one Yūko couldn’t place.

“Thank you!” She bowed, before scurrying off towards the stage. Yūko looked over at Akio; he just shrugged helplessly.

The stage itself was empty, the last act having already cleared off, and only a few people seemed to be waiting to watch the girl perform. Front and centre sat a boy about the same age as her with a bob of olive hair; he seemed to be dressed up for the fair, with a traditional white robe over a blue top and pants. He glanced at the pair as they approached, something unreadable in his dark eyes, then looked back up at the stage.

Yūko and Akio sat a few seats away, beside a mixed family where the mother was a plump European woman and the father was a square-jawed Japanese man. They had two kids; a young daughter and an infant, who was currently asleep on the mother’s lap.

After a few moments the lights over the seating area dimmed, and the hum of conversation died down. The girl in the striped shirt walked nervously onto the stage, holding a violin in one hand and a bow in the other. She stepped up to the microphone, eyes scanning the small crowd. She swallowed.

“Hello,” she began, “Thank you all for coming.” She looked down at the boy, then over to the mixed family, before finally her gaze settled on Yūko and Akio. She readied her violin, quietly tuning the thing. “This song is for my parents; I know they’re watching, even if they aren’t really here.”

She started to play, the strings humming a mournful note beneath the bow. The song was slow, the tune rising and falling gracefully along. The girl seemed to lose herself in the music; the jitter was gone from her movement, and her expression was one of quiet concentration. Tears began to flow as she played, glittering for a moment in the stage’s lights as they ran down her cheeks. Still she played on, and Yūko felt herself begin to well up a little at the performance.

As the tune went on it seemed to call to her, and something stirred deep inside in answer. A memory, maybe; it felt more like a dream half-remembered. And for the briefest moment she wasn’t in a plastic chair in the local park. Instead she was at her old home, at her desk, and the girl in the striped shirt, so much smaller, was standing in the doorway.

_“Mommy, can I learn the violin?”_

_“Not now, Chihiro, mommy’s busy.”_

And then she was back in the present, back in the park, and the girl ( _Chihiro?_ ) was drawing her song to a slow and gentle finale. Yūko blinked, shaking her head to clear the fog from her mind. She was certain she had never had a daughter, so what had she remembered?

She looked over to Akio; he wiped away a single tear then stood up, knocking his chair over, and started clapping. “Bravo!”

The rest of the crowd joined in, and so did Yūko, if only to distract from how shaken she felt. The girl wiped her eyes and bowed, before stepping away from the microphone and towards the back of the stage. As she disappeared from view the boy in white got up, walking over to the stage exit.

“Does the name ‘Chihiro’ mean anything to you?” Yūko asked her husband.

“Sounds familiar,” he shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure where I heard it.”

The girl emerged, still wiping the tears away, and wordlessly embraced the boy. Yūko felt a strange jealousy, as if she wanted to run over and comfort the child herself, but she knew that would do her no favours. So she contended herself with watching, still mulling over what she had seen and heard.

Finally the girl moved away from her friend, muttering something to him too quietly for Yūko to hear, and with trepidation approached the couple. There was a sad smile on her face, the nervousness gone, banished by the song.

“So, what did you think?” Her voice quavered.

“It was great!” Akio announced.

“Yes,” Yūko agreed, bending down so she was at eye level with the girl, “You’re very talented. But may I ask you something?”

“Yes.”

“Is your name ‘Chihiro’?” she asked cautiously. “I feel like we’ve met before.” The girl froze, eyes welling with fresh tears.

“Yes,” she choked out, “It is. Do you remember anything else?”

“I’m sorry,” Yūko lied, “That’s all I can remember.”

“Oh,” Chihiro looked down, sniffling, before slowly looking back up. “Well, thank you for coming.” She bowed again, before scurrying back to her waiting friend. Yūko watched her go, feeling a strange pang in her chest. She looked up at Akio, who had a strangely contemplative look on his face. He spoke.

“We never had a daughter, did we?”


End file.
